My Steamy Story: She is meeting the man in a hotel room f...

My Story Time:

Okay, so, I'm standing in this boujee-ass hotel room, my cheap latex briefs are practically fused to my pussy after the shift I just had, and my hair is still low-key sticky. The agency said this was a big booking interview, but they didn't spill the tea that this guy specifically asked for their "most experienced girl." Iconic, right? Like, high-key humiliating. He’s looking me up and down, my slut tattoo probably peeking out, and he’s like, "We need someone who can handle 30 guys without getting overwhelmed." Bestie, I almost laughed. Overwhelmed is my middle name.

So I'm putting on the performance of my life, trying to sound professional but still spicy. I'm like, "Oh, absolutely, I'm the main party girl, period." I lean in so my new pornstar tits are right in his face, and I start explaining my whole vibe. "It’s all about the energy, you know? A little kiss here,"—I mime a air kiss—"a little hug there. Gets them all jealous and thirsty." I can see his eyes glued to my neon pink lips as I reapply my gloss, extra slow. I know this move. It’s rizz 101.

He asks me to walk him through it, so I do this little slutty walk across the carpet, my thigh-high boots squeaking, and turn with my hand on my hip. "You want them to look, right?" I tell him how I’d act a little ditzy, maybe fake being tipsy, let hands wander. "Once a line forms for kisses," I say, dropping the word slut casually, "it's only a matter of time before they're leading me somewhere dark to kiss me with their dicks out." I see him shift in his chair, and I know I’ve got him.

Then he hits me with it. Asks how many guys it takes before I need to, quote, "freshen up." The question itself made me wanna gag for real. My stomach churned, and I swear I could still taste the last four loads. I tried to play it cool. "Oh, you know, just to touch up my makeup." But he wasn't having it. He pushed. "How many loads before you get nauseous?"

I felt so exposed, my cheap facade cracking. I whispered, "Four." The word hung in the air like the smell of stale cum. "I give two warnings. A little gag, then I say I need air." The confession felt like pulling my own guts out. And then he just smirked and called me a "hurl whore." Oof. Sheesh. The disrespect was next level, but I just… shut down. My hands went numb as I unclasped my top, letting my fake tits pop out. "See?" I said, my voice flat. "Brand new. Just like you ordered."

He laughed, like my pain was a joke. "The guys will be way worse," he said, and he wasn't wrong. So I just switched to autopilot, my brain going to the only place it knows. "It starts with one brave one," I recited, staring past him. "He whispers something filthy, asks for a feel. I let him. I always let them." My pussy actually clenched, traitorously, as I described the transition. "Kissing turns to groping. They take turns. I make them all feel special, even when there's a line of thirty."

He asked if I felt exposed, if they asked inappropriate questions. A bitter laugh bubbled up. "Exposed is my default setting," I said, finally looking at him. His dick was a visible tent in his pants now. "They ask my body count. I lie. I say a hundred. They call me a slut. Sometimes…" I stepped closer, my tits still out, and reached for his belt. "Sometimes, if a guy is turned off by the number, I just ask…" My fingers found the hard line of his cock through his trousers, and I gave it a slow, deliberate stroke. "'Is that too many guys for you, babe?'"

He gasped, and his hand flew up to cover mine, pressing it harder against him. "Fuck," he breathed.

"See?" I whispered, my professional mask slipping back into the hungry, knowing slut I really was. I leaned in, my glossy lips inches from his ear. "Once they're hard, they stop asking questions. They just want to use the holes. So…" I unzipped his pants with my free hand, my movements practiced. "You wanna interview this one?" I wrapped my fingers around his hot, thick cock, giving it a firm squeeze. "Or do you just wanna book the slut?"